


A Boy and His Dog

by Verlaine



Category: Riddick (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verlaine/pseuds/Verlaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know what love is. A boy loves his dog."</p>
<p>Or, you didn't <i>really</i> think Riddick was going to let that go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Boy and His Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the h_cbingo prompt "abandonment issues".
> 
> Title and tag line borrowed from the Harlan Ellison story of the same name.

The necromongers have a saying: you keep what you kill.

That's bullshit.

In this universe, you keep nothing, dead or alive. I once heard some egghead talking about entropy, how everything is all the time running down, and how much energy you have to put in just to keep things from falling apart. In the end, chaos always wins. That's the way the universe works. Me, I figure helping it along a little is just common sense. 

I like to be on the winning side.

My side.

Thought for a while after I hit not-Furya that I was gonna end up entropy's bitch. Once you lose your edge, you're never really as sharp as you were, no matter how close you get to the whetstone. If Vaako had been as smart as he thought he was, he'd have kept things interesting for me until I was dulled enough even he could have ghosted me.

That planet brought me back to life. Nearly killed me doing it, but that's usually the way it goes. The closer to the bone, the sweeter the meat. 

I never meant to keep him. When you're trying to survive on air and sand, a litter of abandoned pups could have all kinds of uses. Figured once I'd tested out the scorpion-lizard's venom, I'd get my ass out and leave him to live or die on his own. Even when I took him along, I was mainly thinking he'd make me a handy portable lunch if I couldn't find anything else.

Funny how I never managed to feel that hungry.

I never had a pet—you can't really count the guys I bitched up in slam. Never had a partner either. It took a while getting used to thinking about what something else needed. But once we got in the groove, it felt right. He liked to hunt as much as I did, and when we got the sharing part figured out, we did damn good. If there had been some booze, and maybe somebody to fuck now and then, I'd have said not-Furya was one of the better places I'd been. Enough challenges to keep life interesting, plenty of food once you knew what to look for, somebody to talk to who didn't talk back. Sweet.

It's always people that fuck you up. If those damn bounty hunters had taken my advice, we could have all walked away nice and clean. But they listened to the parts of the data-squeeze that talked about money, instead of the parts that talked about what I could do, what I _would_ do. 

Most of them died because of that, but it doesn't really feel like it's enough. I keep thinking 'bout dragging those bodies out of the freezer. Cutting them into little chunks. Burning them and pissing on the ashes. Maybe gutting their women and kids too.

It wouldn't change what happened to him, but it would be something.

When the whole cluster-fuck was over and done with, I went back. I let Boss Johns think I was running for the rim, but once his ship went up-light, I turned around. I had some unfinished business back on not-Furya.

It wasn't hard to find him. The scorpion-lizards had done a pretty good job of cleaning up, but I could still smell the blood. I found his skull, and some of the spine with the shoulder blade and the left front leg still attached. Some of that fuzzy grey-black fur was left on the paw. 

For a second there, I wished I'd twisted Dahl's neck when I had the chance. If she hadn't tranked me, I could've saved him. At least bought him a chance to run. 

I pulled the two top incisors out of the skull, cut the longest claws off the paw. Buried the rest. He deserved a grave more than the bastard that killed him, that's for sure. Couldn't figure out why my goggles kept fogging up until I tasted salt.

I strung the teeth and claws on a chain around my neck. That'll be another part of the legend of Riddick making the rounds, only it'll be human teeth and bones by the time they tell the story in the portside slop joints. Not that I'll keep 'em long. The next time I hit slam, the guards'll take them away from me. Or I'll trade them for something I need to save my life.

He'd be okay with that, I think. After all, he traded for my life already, and didn't seem to mind.

I minded.

I've got them staked out down there in the rocks. The kid's crying and praying, Dahl's swearing and fighting the chains, Boss Johns is saving his energy, waiting for his chance. But he's smart enough to know there won't be one. Knew it the minute he woke up and saw me. Dahl and the kid think there might be some last minute help, that this is all some fucked-up mind game I'm playing, but Johns knows. 

He lost somebody once too. He knows what it feels like. What you'll do to get an answer.

I've got a front row seat in little patch of shade by a rock, and a nice cold brew and a couple of stun guns handy. It won't be too long now; I've seen a few ears and noses poking around the edge of some of the boulders out there. They can smell fresh meat from a long way, and they're ready to come get it.

Won't be much longer before I get a real good look at Boss John's spine, up-close and personal.


End file.
